Chapter Text
The paddock is nearly empty—mechanics packing cases, fluorescent lights humming over silent cars. The chaos of race day has finally faded, leaving only the ache of exhaustion and the sting of everything that went wrong on track. Nico sits on the tire stack beside car 27, helmet still dropped loosely in his lap. He looks up only when he hears footsteps he knows too well.
Kevin.
“We could’ve gotten points,” Nico mutters, bitterness slipping through his usually cool voice. “If we’d worked together on the start—”
Kevin drops onto the tire next to him—close enough that their shoulders brush. “I know,” he says quietly. “I was pushing too hard. I’m sorry.” That alone is strange—Kevin isn’t famous for apologies.
Nico turns to him, surprised, only to find Kevin already watching him, eyes softer than they ever are behind a visor.
“You were fast today,” Kevin adds. “Faster than me.”
Nico lets out a dry laugh. “Too late for flattery.”
“Not flattery,” Kevin replies. “Truth.” The garage feels warmer suddenly. Not in the artificial-light way—something deeper, heavier.
Nico studies him—the way his fire has simmered into something else tonight.
He’s seen Kevin furious, fierce, explosive. But this—vulnerability—is rarer. “We don’t have to fight each other every weekend.” Kevin’s voice is low, tired. “What if we tried being a team?”
Nico smirks. “You willing to follow me into turn one, then?”
“Maybe.” Then softer—“If you’ll trust me when I push back.” Their eyes hold for several seconds, long enough to make Nico aware of the space between them—or lack of it.
Kevin’s hand rests beside his on the tire, fingers brushing his. The contact is barely there, but electric.
“You’re different off track,” Nico says, voice barely above a breath.
“So are you.”
Nico should pull away. This is complicated, stupid, dangerous. But instead he shifts closer, knees touching. “We going to explore that difference?” He asks.
Kevin smiles—real, genuine. “Only if you want to.”
Nico leans in, slow enough Kevin can stop him—but he doesn’t. Their foreheads touch first, a gentle press, then lips meet—tentative, tired, unexpectedly tender. A kiss forged not from adrenaline, but relief. Understanding. When they part, both are breathing just a bit too fast.
“So,” Kevin murmurs, thumb brushing Nico’s jaw, “teammates?”
“Teammates,” Nico agrees—and kisses him again, harder this time, like the start lights just went out and they’re both launching.